


Living With Determination

by pseudomancer



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10464114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudomancer/pseuds/pseudomancer
Summary: What if Kiritsugu had just hung on a little longer, his body stubbornly refusing to finally die? What if Shirou were inspired to save his father's life? Instead of letting him pass on, what if he decided he would do something about it? This is that alternate reality.





	1. Chapter 1

It's always the same nightmare and knowing that doesn't make bearing it any easier.

Fire walks with Emiya Kiritsugu. Wherever he goes, run or crawl, figures of crackling flame spread with each crumbling step. Faceless men scream, black fingers chewing their bodies alive. A beautiful moonlit woman chokes on the dark fumes. She shrieks in agony until her eyes become nothing but sizzling ash and smoldering red coals. Bare feet crunch on brittle bone and bloody skin, a road of broken bodies crying out underneath them. Familiar voices wail out, pleading while a golden, smug gaze taunts him where his eyes never go.

Even as numb death creeps into his body, step by step, Kiritsugu continues to push forward. Stopping only to turn over stone and rubble, pulling burning men from the flames only to feel them wither into dust. Kiritsugu runs deeper and deeper into the abyss. He isn't sure when he'll be able to stop or why he hasn't already yet given up; but this is all he can do to atone. Pointless acts of defiant heroism define a man who cannot save anyone, least alone himself.

Turning over a large stone, Kiritsugu finds a small, familiar hand. It's Shirou's. He grasps it as hard as he can muster, pulling the boy up with a painful grunt. The rubble covering him rattles apart as it's forced away. Kiritsugu screams with grit and heart, feeling his arms rip at the seams. He's so heavy! A child, so heavy! Heavier than any fallen stone! But somehow, he manages to pull him free. Elation forces his body to burn.

Shirou now standing in his feeble grip, Kiritsugu pulls his son into his arms. Hot tears in his eyes, he watches his cradled son, now smiling at him, happily dissolve into ash.

* * *

It had begun, how long ago? Not right after he had settled down, not after he had resigned himself to losing Illya. But, how many years ago was that? Too many, far too many. He had no right to live as long as he had without her and her mother. It wasn't long after that, however, that the symptoms of the grail's erosion on his body had begun to worsen to the point where he couldn't hide it any longer. Steadily worsening, steadily weakening what little strength he had left. It would have been fine. It would have been just even, for all the sins he had committed trying to help others. However, what was not just, was what he was doing to Taiga and Shirou in the process. Those hopeful, grateful eyes. Those eyes he had yearned for, for so long, watching him slowly waste away like this...

Kiritsugu lies back, opening up his chest with an awful, disgusting cough. A sea of electrocuting sickness churns in his chest, but he clears out his throat and lungs, tightly clasping the hand in his palm. He had intended to die quietly, to leave this world with a soft sigh of regret. But this world was a cruel one. It wouldn't let him go, not yet. It would make him suffer a little longer; make him a burden for those whom he cared most today. It would delay him from reuniting with Iri...

Finally, he hears footsteps.

"Shirou," Kiritsugu says, "Finally. I wanted to talk to you."

"Just rest," Shirou has a very calm manner about him for a child his age; a soothing strength Kiritsugu is proud of. The boy closes the door behind him.

He'll go far, Kiritsugu thinks with a special lightness.

"I can never rest," Kiritsugu laughs, "That's the problem, Shirou. But... for not much longer."

The boy's eyes grow cold and dim, flickering like tiny flames in the darkness of the bedroom.

"No."

"It's been a long time coming. I've overstayed my welcome. I never expected to hang on like this," he shrugs, cringing as muscles there protest, "Not that I regret the extra time I was able to spend with you all."

"Don't say that. You'll get better."

"You know that's not true. Nothing will make this better. Please accept that fact, Shirou."

The boy licks his lips.

"Let me get you some soup."

Kiritsugu finally registers that he's holding onto his son's hand. Holding tighter, Kiritsugu says, "In a minute. There's a little we need to discuss. It's about my last will. It's not pleasant, but I want you to understand how your finances are going to be put in order. In the case that Taiga finds work elsewhere when she graduates, you'll need to be a little responsible for it, right?"

And so, Kiritsugu sets out to explain to Shirou the facts and details concerning a worthless, bed-ridden father's meager legacy.

* * *

Elsewhere, another confronts the legacy of her parents. Twinned graves.

It's fitting that the rain does not fall, Tohsaka Rin thinks to herself. There's no sadness to be found here, just objective fact. She lost the capacity to cry over this a while ago. She's been putting her best foot forward ever since, but she won't make the mistake of not paying her respects, either.

"A mother too weak to hold on for her only daughter, a father too short-sighted to see what truly mattered..."

Such miserable words come from the dry throat of the current head magus of the Tohsaka lineage. They are words thick with spite and pity, words unfitting of one of her high stature and long pedigree, but Rin says them anyway, feeling a little pleasant umbra on her lips. Selfish thoughts like these can be forgiven, if they aren't truly meant, and they aren't truly meant, not really.

Rin wipes her eyes and sighs. She had not wanted to come here again, but she finds herself always coming twice a year without fail on their anniversary of passing. Passing is too gentle a word, however. A lie. They have not yet passed from her life. Even now, she's provided for in quiet comfort by them.

Rin returns to the manor. Pretending she can be heard, she announces it to the empty walls, "I'm back home."

* * *

At this rusty time of day, there ought to be children, or at least the sound of traffic just beyond the park's edge, but the crickets are all Emiya Shirou hears. In the colder months, it's surprising to hear crickets even, as the trampled stretch of Central Park is often deathly still. For that such reason Shirou comes here to meditate sometimes. It's probably not healthy for a child of twelve to meditate alone in a deserted park under the glowing fuchsia sky, but he knows he cannot help it. He's resigned to that truth about himself.

Wind caresses his cheek, a gentle hand slapping across his face. It's refreshing, even as it chills him, because it makes his skin prickle and wakes him. It causes his senses to sharpen and he realizes he's not actually alone. But then, has he ever been? There is someone just on the edge of feeling, standing behind a tree behind him. Shirou turns carefully so as not to startle the stranger.

"Hello," he says, "You can come out. I know you're there."

There's another long exhale of wind, its fingers raking through beautiful long hair. He realizes that's how he sensed this quiet girl, the current makes a sound as it's combing through the long petals of her hair.

"Hi," her voice is a little dry and it's only because the wind carries it toward him that he can hear her.

Shirou steps slowly closer, immediately recognizing that banner of violet hair. It's the aurora of smog fading over the setting horizon, or maybe a distant star. It's unmistakable, even though he can barely recall her name.

"Matou-san," Shirou says, "What are you doing here?"

The girl blinks, surprised that he knows her name. They don't share any classes, just barely a single notable memory. It's not even really shared. It's more like right now, one side observing the other like a ghost.

"I was just enjoying the evening," she says, perhaps a little too maturely for an eleven-year-old.

Shirou accepts the answer naturally. He has no good reason to question it. It's almost what he's been doing. And, well, she had been hiding behind a tree to clearly shadow him, but he could understand a junior girl's caution or curiosity around him. At least, abstractly he could understand not wanting to disturb him. He also has a vague understanding from how others talk of her, that Sakura Matou is a little odd.

"It's nice out today, isn't it?" he glances up toward the pooling clouds.

"Yes."

Sakura looks like there's much more she'd like to say, but the words don't form. She remains awkwardly still, neither close nor far from Shirou. There's an unsteady silence that comes between them. That's her cue to leave. And normally, it would just end like this, with a smile and a solemn parting, one head turning over the shoulder to look back in passing. Except today, Sakura sees something in Shirou's eyes - the brilliance that drew her to follow him from a distance: it's missing. It makes her pause, truly her whole being pausing in speechlessness. Somehow, seizing herself, Sakura forces herself to speak, pulling her bangs behind her ears.

"Is there anything wrong, Emiya-san?"

Such words would seem ordinary to most, but Shirou can appreciate the serious-seeming dampness to them. He's sharp to notice when others worry needlessly for him. Shirou wonders how she can tell that there's a problem or if it's just a genuine courtesy. Is he calling attention to himself, or does his face read plainly to her? He's now worried others have noticed. He doesn't want to trouble others with his own sadness, not when there are enough problems going on. And so, while it's tempting to be honest and truthful to a fault as always, Shirou holds back the truth. He doesn't want anyone getting involved with his problems, especially not one as personal and tragic as this.

"Thank you, but I'm okay. Just some family problems I'm dealing with right now. It'll all get sorted out."

Close by, an old church bell tolls.

It's so unlike him to say a thing like that, that his words ring so hollow. To Sakura it is a pointless and unveiled lie. Yet, she can't do anything about it. She can't do anything about anything ever! For some reason it hurts deep to be lied to by him. But where does she get this sense of entitlement? Is it foolish for her to try to care about a stranger? She can't even properly care for her own worries, oh forget the problems of someone like Shirou! Such thoughts wrinkle plainly along the young girl's brow, unknown to all.

...dong

Although it is already an extreme circumstance for Sakura to still be standing here, meeting Shirou's eyes (a rare enough occasion), there is no further reason for things to continue. Normally, it would end like this. Parting. So surely, this clumsy moment would be taken from them both soon after; dispersing like the heavy clouds above. Only, that lie hurts Sakura more than she'd expected it could. To a fault, she has always been sensitive to the feelings of others and Shirou's inner turmoil is so obvious to her that it actually makes her voice tighten, sparks igniting in her lungs. Forbidden words leap out.

...dong

"That's a lie."

...dong

She immediately regrets it. It's not like her to care this deeply. She had stomped out that part of herself, when Kariya...

No, it's unfair to call it "caring". It's more like immediately "settling a grudge". Shirou lied to her. Shirou should pay...

The boy is startled by her accusation, his auburn brows raising high on his face. Something screws into in his belly and he feels the familiar pang of regret knotting inside him. Somehow, he knows he's hurt this girl with his words. His reaction makes Sakura's paralyzing self-pity evaporate.

"Sorry-"

"Sorry!"

They both blurt out apologies in unison.

Shirou searches for what he should say next - time seems to stand still. Sakura is simply beside herself, for her, it flows overwhelmingly quickly. They are just kids and this is already too weird. To be fair, most adults would have accepted Shirou's lie at face value and carried on, so maybe things don't need to end here yet. Finally, the bell finishes its last toll.

"It's okay-"

"It's okay-"

They both utter again in unison the same thing. It's unsettling now. Sakura feels hot sweat along her lower back - when did it get there? Shirou is tinged red as a small smile buzzes on his cheeks.

Sakura announces, wishing she had the gall to turn away, "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, I should have been honest. I just didn't want to trouble you."

Boldly, knees fidget. A few steps are made in the wrong direction. Sakura's blouse flits in the breeze. She fields a brave smile, one hand holding onto the hem of her skirt, the other offered in bowed handshake. It's all she can do here.

"It's not a trouble to share your problems with others Emiya-san. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

Shirou takes that hand, shaking the soft grip. He isn't sure why she's made this gesture. And neither is she, really, but the words had come easily and the act of coming forward is surprisingly simple. They let go.

"You're right."

His broadening smile makes her skip. She misses his next few words, but then catches enough of the rest to follow his confession-

"-he's not gotten out of bed in three days now. So, I think this is finally the end beginning. I'm just moping about, wondering what I can do. I just feel helpless."

She had heard, from somewhere though she cannot recall exactly now how she had learned of it, that Shirou's father was deathly ill and had been for quite some time.

"I'm very sorry to hear that. And it's not moping to me."

She hates how worthless her words seem, how little they must mean to him. But there's nothing more she can do. And isn't that just business as usual?

"Thanks. But it's okay."

Since the rules of the universe have been broken twice already this evening, it's no longer surprising that Sakura Matou is still standing there after that closing line. Isn't it expected of her to leave right now? Finally? But she doesn't go. Plainly now more than ever she realizes this is what she's always wanted. It's pathetic that she's yearned to have a conversation like this; something which many people have casually all the time. It's embarrassing that she's taking it so seriously, too. Not wanting to doubt herself any more, she goes all in, scrunching her eyes shut.

"You don't need to act strong. I can't imagine what you're going through right now. But if you're not feeling well, please don't hide it, it's...normal! There's nothing shameful with it..."

Sakura wishes she could deliver her own confession with more resolve, but for some reason what she says resonates badly with her. She sighs deeply, the fire churning in her chest winding and winding into embers.

Shirou doesn't know what to say, so instead he thanks her and apologizes. Sakura wants to tell him apologies aren't necessary, but she just stops and starts on that thought, her words and her doubts getting the better of her. She wants to be sure to reach him, but she's always getting caught up. She's always tying up and only then deciding to depart! She looks down at the grassy dirt, finally yielding in defeat. Even when she feels like she can put her all into something, she just can't. Envy wells up in her gaze at him.

New words then are ushered out- impossible words that make her heart stop. Her head jerks in an unnatural way. Has she become a bird? Where are they again? She couldn't have been hearing right.

"Sorry sempai! What did you say?"

"Would you like to come over to my place, Matou-san?" he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his head, "I appreciate you wanting to help me. So, maybe I do need a little help right now. Can you cook? I could always use some help in the kitchen. And what you said makes sense - I'm being dumb. I shouldn't be here by myself, shouldn't I just be spending time with my Dad?"

Her voice trembles, yelling a fierce 'no but thank you very much' inside, only of course-

"You can refuse of course, I know it'll be a little weird since we don't-"

"Yes!"

Her voice betrays her. For how could she refuse such a polite offer from someone like Shirou?

The boy smiles, casting his eyes skyward.

* * *

"There are two kinds of arrogance. One where you are unequal to the task and one where your dreams are too big. The former is commonplace stupidity... but the latter is a rare species that is difficult to find."  
The Mythical Hero, Gilgamesh

* * *

Sakura'd no idea Shirou was living in such a place. The Emiya household is very clean, very inviting, and with a traditional Japanese beauty. Perhaps its ideal has been a little too tightly ingrained into his being. One could see Shirou as a budding male Nadeshiko with how he so casually adorns an apron in front of her, a beaming grin on his boyish cheeks. Sakura is pretty sure there isn't any other boy close to her age that would be comfortable acting so domestic. Comfortable is perhaps too modest, Shirou is a natural. Sakura can tell all this just by watching how he moves, knowing exactly where everything is in the kitchen. On the way in, he had put away brooms and dusters, tidying up the antechamber, hanging up coats and putting away a little unsightly trash. Sakura can hardly believe this is the same boy she's been watching from afar; she had missed these qualities somehow, all this time.

Sakura finds herself staring. She pinches her cheek. She really can't believe a strange floor is under her, a foreign wood scraping against her socks.

Shirou fidgets a little under her unrelenting focus, "Is there something on my face, Matou-san?"

"Ah, no. What are we making?" Sakura manages to stutter out.

"Tonkatsu, I was thinking,"

"Oh," Sakura nods, thinking it won't be that hard.

She's wrong, of course. When Shirou says something like "Tonkatsu" he's actually imagining a much more complete meal, with more than meat and rice, but with a particular sort of from-scratch batter and homemade sauce. He moves like lightning, gathering tools and ingredients from all over. Sakura is breathing hard by the time they're done preparing everything - Shirou is fast, not wasting a moment. He's very understanding too, letting her be involved. She's aware her presence slowed him down a little.

Sakura vows to do better next time. She'll show him she can rise to the occasion. The kitchen is a woman's domain, after all.

A scary smile adorns Sakura's face...

"Ah, Matou-san, that s-smile...is something the matter?"

"Oh-! Ah, no sempai. I'm fine," she swallows her soul, "Actually," her voice quakes as she makes a brazen request, "Could you call me...Sakura, instead?"

Her heart is pounding so hard...

"Huh? Oh. Sure," Shirou really doesn't make a big deal out of it, he just smiles obliviously at her.

Seeing that smile, it tears at her. She worms. Worms! Worse than any worm, she feels like a slimy grub, her heart shriveling and twisting. She's--Sakura wiggles her head and shakes, shedding her skin, forcing a smile. She pushes everything away, stifling herself. Stop being selfish, Sakura. Remember- just, remember- remember what happens when-

"Sakura, are you really all right?"

"S-sorry! I- I'm fine. Really. I just," she swallows, "Please show me around. Your home is really very nice."

Time passes while food cooks, awkward moments forgotten. Shirou takes the opportunity to show her all around the first floor. She just listens by his side, enjoying the one-sided conversation under the darkening sky. When dinner is ready to be served, she takes a seat at the table. A stranger is there - an older girl, ready to graduate high school or begin college. She looks worn-out, at least until Sakura's presence sparks a raging storm in her eyes.

"Whoa! Shirou, who is this?!" Taiga Fujimura slams her hands on the table pointing dramatically, "Shirou! Shirou! Who-"

The boy puts up his hand, "Fuji-nee, would you please calm down? I'll explain. Just let me fetch father."

"But!"

Sakura watches in awe, Shirou gives the brunette a very picturesque glare. She's never seen her sempai look so scary before. Taiga shrinks under the gaze, gnashing her teeth. When Shirou leaves, her gaze snaps to Sakura, watching her like a predator. Sakura feels like she's being studied like she's a mouse.

"Excuse me, but are you Shirou's sister?"

"T'ch, you know it's rude not to properly introduce people, Shirou-baka!" Fuji-nee makes two small fists, but acknowledges Sakura's question with a fierce roar, "Yes! I am! I'm Taiga Fujimura. Shirou's adopted sister."

"I'm Sakura Matou, Shirou-sempai's kouhai at school," she swallows a little water, "Adopted?"

"Welcome Sakura-chan! Oh, it's so good to hear Shirou's making new friends! And, it's a long story, but do you want to hear it?"

It sounds like Taiga wants to tell it, so Sakura nods along.

As animated as Shirou's sister is, the mood becomes somber when Kiritsugu comes into the dining room, walking only by leaning heavily on Shirou. It's an ill-fitted end to what's so far been a fantasy come true.

"Dad, Fuji-nee, there's somebody I'd like you both to meet."

* * *

Hours later, when she has effortlessly managed to not only convince Shirou to call her 'Sakura' but to also eat at the same table as him and further brazenly still invite herself over again tomorrow for dinner, does Sakura Matou reflect on how cruel life is! A once small, budding pain in her heart has tonight flowered into a thorny ache.

Is it normal for someone as young, as lowly and as foolish as her to adore someone as pure and as beautiful as Shirou? It can't be natural or right for a child her age to feel this way about someone they only just barely know. Children cannot possibly understand true love! But Sakura thinks she does. And it feels wrong to call these genuine feelings a crush or a fawning. What she feels is real, painfully realized in every dream and reality involving him.

Sakura is wise enough to know there is something wrong with her, that it definitely isn't normal or right to obsess about someone like she is. A love like this can only be requited in some immature, escapist fantasy. She's heard of girls her age falling in love with their teachers or brothers or pretty-boy idols--- and can this possibly be any different? It just isn't meant to be. And if it isn't meant to be, then it's still wrong! Shirou is so young; and she is too! Isn't it a bit much to expect him to feel as heavily as she does? Isn't it a bit much to think these feelings will hold true, with time? There is still so much time for them to be children... Or at least, for Shirou, there might be...

She's been taking advantage of his hospitality and broken heart. There's no other reason he would be indulging her like this. Right? So for both their sake, she should have stayed quiet; allowed her childish love to fade quietly into obscurity. What a stupid, childish thing to do Sakura! Have you learned nothing?!

Sakura touches her chest, feeling a deep pain in her heart. She recalls that look Shirou gave her. And those heartfelt thanks. Also, the food had been quite good. And his company, at least for a boy her age, had been delightful, serene, joyful; even as brief as it was. How could she ever forgive herself now? And how could she just forget? And as if that weren't enough, above all else, she knew she had done something terrible. Unforgivable.

She hadn't simply tried to be a friend, she'd tried to give him something more. Yes, she had just wanted to help him, but.

But, she hadn't wanted to give him hope.

Alone in the kitchen with him after dinner, she had said, "Do you know what's wrong with your father, Shirou?"

"No," he had confessed, "I don't. I have asked though."

"So he doesn't want you to know?"

She had seen Shirou's father. He was alive enough to smile at her, a charming smile at that, but he was so pallid, skinny, and clearly in enormous pain. He barely had sat up during dinner, with nary a word to either of them. She had seen animals before in that kind of pain. Her grandfather had made her practice her mysteries on such creatures and it always made her feel sick. Sick like she is now, a sickness you feel when you can't do anything, but want to so badly. She had forgotten this feeling.

"I don't think he wants me worrying about it. He told me there's no cure. I think that he thinks I'll try to look for one if I hear a name; get my hopes up you know? Fuji-nee thinks so too," he had shrugged, "We haven't really talked about it much."

So she had stupidly said in all innocent earnest, "But what if there is a cure?"

Shirou's eyes had lit up something spectacularly. The beautiful light that she had fallen for had returned in a single glint. She had given him hope!

She wishes she hadn't said those words. Maybe that light of his would have just come back on its own, in time. But now she had given him a horrible, horrible thing to hope for. She herself had learned that hope quickly turned to despair; that for some things there could never just be a right and that you shouldn't even try, or wish, or let yourself feel... Hope is a painful thing. Something more painful to bear than love.

Sakura has trouble sleeping that night. In her dreams, she sees the light blazing in Shirou's eyes go out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A minor note that my style has changed with Japanese stuff some. I decorate conversation with -san, -chan, sempai, etc. from time to time to remind the reader such suffixes are used politely in accordance with basic Japanese decorum, but I find it grating when I decorate...every single sentence with them. If they're not present, they're probably still there in 'Japanese'. But since I'm rendering the story's dialogue in English, I'm only rendering some of them in the actual text. Sorry if that's a little wishywashy, I'm trying to straddle an awkward middle ground.
> 
> I also have been trying to refrain from using Japanese lingo when I can. I like to pepper it in some spaces, but I don't want it to be too distracting, or require the reader be very immersed in the culture. I hate putting annotations and notes all over a story, so I can't rely on something like that.
> 
> Anyway, This one is short, because I'm still editing the rest...

Three days later, on a Monday, Shirou bikes further into downtown Fuyuki. He has a map under one arm, a determined look in his eyes. He stops between a maid cafe and a convenience store. Between the crack of these buildings is a small alleyway and just around one corner is a portal to an unusual realm. _Traditional Medicine_ , it reads hand-painted. Inside there are live frogs, mice, and silk worms; a thick fragrance hangs like musk or mold- like something you might find in a mystic, damp jungle. Or maybe it's just what a barn smells like, Shirou really doesn't know the difference to judge. There are curious sights and smells everywhere. But, the shop is structured to bring the customer front and center to a bright red counter. A young man is there.

"Irasshai," the man welcomes him in a deep voice.

Shirou admits this isn't what he was expecting. The clerk is black-skinned with thick rolls for hair. A knotted beard hangs from his chin. He wears a loose button-up white shirt, a white undershirt riding up underneath, and jeans. The man's assumed accent is non-existent - he sounds native.

Shirou welcomes the clerk with a polite bow. He introduces himself, trying to be on his best behavior.

"Could you please help me? I'm trying to find something for my dad."

"Is he not well, son? Arthritis, perhaps? Common cold?"

"No, he's very sick," and Shirou proceeds to describe the symptoms in painful detail. Kiritusgu has been coughing up blood, his eyes often the same shade of puked guts. He suffers from extreme fatigue and weakness, with unsteady steps. Recently he has been needing help climbing stairs. Then there's the diarrhea, fevers that come and go, rashes that never do, general numbness, night terrors, chills, sweating, decrease in appetite and weight, cramps, headaches, and bulbous puss-filled sores in the throat and eyelids. For as long as Shirou's known him, he's had a sickly skin color and always in some way suffering like this. It's to the point where Shirou can list it all off without being affected.

But it's almost too much for the man, who grows more and more unsettled as Shirou describes in clinical detail his father's health. The man probably thinks a child Shirou's age shouldn't be dealing with such things. 

"It sounds extremely serious. Has your father been to a doctor? A hospital? Not to say the things we sell here cannot help, but I'm obligated to ask, you know."

"Yes," Shirou says, though he admits he can't remember the last time he went. It was when he was much younger.

"Has he been seen by anyone else?"

"I'm not sure."

"And you don't know what he's been diagnosed with."

"He won't tell me. He's just said that there isn't much time."

The man nods, seeming sympathetic, "Is he at peace with that?"

Shirou wonders. The question isn't what he expected to hear. Or wanted to. He expected to be sold on something. But he dwells on it seriously. He thinks of last night. Sakura had come over again. She had been seated beside him... He can see her clearly in his mind. And his father, too. And Fuji-nee. It had been a happy occasion. One he could treasure warmly in his dreams. Wouldn't it be nice if something like that never had to end?

"You're a good cook, Shirou," Fuji-nee has been saying that a lot lately. At first, he thought it was just to cheer him up, but she's saying it all too regularly for it to be a white lie.

"Yes," Sakura grunts rather unlady-like, salmon melting between her teeth.

Their words can't scratch through the numbness in his chest, but it makes him smile, watching his father eat. Kiritsugu used to cook for them. He wasn't very good at many dishes, but he had come to appreciate what his father had gotten good at cooking and he had missed it. Watching him eat Shirou's food in solemn acceptance is enough for the boy.

"It was Sakura's idea to marinate the salmon differently this time," Shirou looks to her, "It wouldn't be half as good otherwise."

Sakura turns oddly red at that little bit of praise. He notices she's sensitive to things like that. He thinks it's rather cute. But the thought is banished when Fuji-nee cackles--

"Ohh, you just scored a point! How suave of you, Shirou! You're quite the lady's man these past few days."

Shirou covers his mouth, for some reason becoming seized with panic, "No! I didn't mean it like that!" he turns to Sakura, "I'm being honest! It's not like that!" he looks Kiritsugu in the eye, "Sakura really knows how to cook better than me."

A giggle erupts from Sakura's throat, charmed by his animated denial - or maybe it's just that preposterous of a statement to her. Shirou sinks into his seat, defeated.

"You're being too humble you know," Sakura says coolly, looking so relaxed in the house of someone she should barely even know. But to her it feels already like home.

Shirou doesn't want anyone to think he's interested in Sakura like that, but he can't find the words. He's really caught his father's eye this time, too. He's quietly smiling.

"Sakura," Kiritsugu usually conserves his energy, but he uses large breaths to speak with the same awesome, calm strength he used to carry, "You'll help Fujimura watch over Shirou when I'm gone, won't you?"

"D-Dad!"

Seizing the moment, Kiritsugu continues in a low voice, the usual weight in his speech dropping away as he laughs, "As much as she does a good job of watching over him, you do know Shirou cannot marry his sister, after all. And I'm not sure I can trust him to not get into trouble on his own once he comes of age."

Sakura's rich, embarrassed laughter lingers in Shirou's mind as a hand shakes him. The dining room kaleidoscopes back into the cramped shop.

"Hey kid, you okay man?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I just...zoned out." 

"It's fine. It's fine. Here," the man is handing Shirou something and he takes it. It's soft. He only then realizes what he's holding.

He brings it up to his eyes.

"I think he's accepted it," Shirou admits, returning it to him, "He's never talked about surviving. He's been telling me for years to appreciate what time is left. That he's lucky to have made it this far."

The man nods and thumbs his beard, "Sometimes, there is nothing that can be done. And as much as I'd like to help you, I'm a responsible man and I like to run an honest business. I don't sell something I can't put all of my confidence in," he gestures around the store, "If you happen to be versed in the Traditions, I'd welcome you to help yourself, but I can't recommend something for your father. Well, I can offer something to ease the aches and pains..." the man walks around the counter and takes some herbs from a wooden bin labeled, 'mugwort root', "Incense from this can reduce the severity of chronic pain. It shouldn't react negatively with any Western medication your father may be taking. Of course, there are always risks, so if you are interested, I would suggest starting very small at first. Also, if he isn't breathing well, I would not actually recommend this, as the smoke could be harmful. How is he breathing?"

Inevitably, Shirou politely declines. He doesn't feel confident in buying anything - the man's words shaking his resolve. He leaves empty-handed, but burdened once more with a heavy weight on his shoulders. 

That evening, the Emiya household is again lightened by Sakura's presence. She's been coming by almost every day. It's something Shirou is sure will pass in time, that she's just worried about him right now. He hates the idea of troubling her, but she does seem to enjoy herself with them. She's a good person he's lucky to have met. But, he can't imagine her family is happy she's spending so much time with them? For now, he decides he'll accept all of her generous kindness. Hopefully one day it can be properly repaid.

* * *

Another three days later, and three additional excursions into Fuyuki later, Shirou leaves school defeated. He had first tried visiting the Fuyuki Univeristy of Medicine, to see if he could speak with someone who could tell him what his father is suffering from, but they had turned him away. He next tried speaking with an actual doctor at the general hospital, but no one would take him seriously or even schedule an appointment. He would have had to lie to get one and he suspected it would have just not gone anywhere fruitful. Yesterday he tried researching medical books at the local library, but not only did his kanji skills lack, but the texts were filled with so many foreign words he couldn't grasp much of what they were saying. He had a strangely good grasp on English for his age, but he still didn't recognize most of the words he'd come across. Only a prodigy could understand a medical textbook at his age... such fantasies are better left for manga-ka to dwell on.

Taking the long way home, Shirou bikes to the park where he had befriended Sakura almost a week prior. He stops there and waits around, just chasing his tail until the sun sets. Walking circles around the track, turning over his thoughts inside his mind. His thoughts delve into darker places again, but somehow it's a phantom of Sakura that snaps him out of it this time. It's late when he realizes he has to get home in time to meet her for supper. He regrets going to the park alone; he should have just walked the bike home alongside her today. At least now when he went to places after school, he would be so filled with excitement and hope he could distract his depression. Being alone like this just drew it out. Determined to not let this get the better of him, Shirou decides to avoid Central Park for the foreseeable future. There's just something off about it, that naturally dampens the heart.

On the way home, he passes a familiar church. He remembers it as a fixture that's always been there, but one he was never tempted to explore or learn about when he was younger. Rarely do people seem to go in it, too. He's never met anyone belonging to the Christian faith in school, either. While it hasn't ever interested him, it's just always been, well, there. Maybe it might give him the answers he's seeking?

Shirou doesn't know much about the religion, only what he's absorbed passively from television and from what little they taught them in world history class. Walking inside the church, he expects to find some old, portly pope of a character. Instead, there's nothing. Absolutely nothing. Pews glitter under dust and candle light, a dark tile floor reflecting a faded mirror image of himself. Shirou tries calling out in greeting, but no one replies. It doesn't sit right with him. Has the priest stepped out? Is it always abandoned like this? Were the doors meant to be locked? These questions seem insignificant though, as Shirou finds himself gravitating toward the front of the chapel. There's a compelling altar with a bronzed man on a cross. Faint light illuminates it from above.

Shirou takes a seat in the front pew. He sits there for a few minutes, wondering what to say. He wonders again why he's come here. Is this the conclusion he was supposed to reach? That because his father had accepted death, it was up to him to accept it too? Do people come to places like these to find acceptance? Was that what the everyone all along had been suggesting? It doesn't feel right though. Just sitting in a place like this doesn't simply give you acceptance. Is it something you just receive mysteriously, like enlightenment? Shirou knows he's not a monk. A bit too young for that. Maybe it's an age thing. Maybe he'll find this "acceptance" when he's older? Maybe he should see the temple shrine and pray there? Maybe he needed to talk with Eastern gods. Would it be wrong to pray in as many holy places as Fuyuki contained? Or would that anger the gods? Should he put his lot in with a single deity? And...would it even matter? Rather, what should he even pray for? Just his own acceptance? A painless death? A miracle? There are many things one could and should ask for in a situation like this. To beseech the gods though, doesn't that require faith? Shirou's shoulders hang and his head droops, finding it all so complicated.

Instead of answering these questions, or even dwelling on them for much longer than a few minutes, the twelve year old simply leaves the pew, approaches the altar, and falls to his knees. No prayers come. No words or thoughts, too. He's just tired, empty, and exhausted - emotionally, spiritually, and even physically. He knows this shouldn't be his responsibility, he knows children shouldn't just feel like this, but he also knows there is nobody else he can rely on. There's nobody his dad can rely on for help but him.

A hand touches his shoulder and jerks Shirou awake again. He bolts up, nearly knocking over the altar as he crashes to his feet. Strong hands steady him, righting him.

"Hello," a man with long brown hair intones, his voice rippling like a stone skipping across a tranquil lake, "Have you come to beg for forgiveness from your sins, child?"

Elegant Japanese. Supremely. Normally that'd not be a cause for alarm, but there's something about this guy that makes him uneasy. He's paralyzed by his presence for a beat - an imposing aura. Being a child though, he adjusts easily enough to find his "adult voice".

"No sir," Shirou, "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

"You are not intruding on the House of the Lord God, my child. You are welcome here. And please, call me Kotomine."

Shirou relaxes, feeling strangely comforted by the man's gentleness. Something seems off about it to him, but it might just be his nerves.

"Hello Kotomine. Are you the priest for this place?"

"I am a disciple of God, yes. I may commune with Him, His Son, and His Spirit," he displays corpse of a smile, "Are you all right, child?"

Okay. Alarm bells. Kotomine's words seem to lack a distinct sincerity to them. But he can't place it. Shirou's posture adjusts, seeming just a bit defensive to the priest, his palms lifting up to shield his face.

"I'm- my name is Emiya Shirou."

"Emiya Shirou," the man repeats those words, "Ah, I see. I think I understand."

There is clear understanding in those eyes, somehow.

"You do?"

"I think so. But, enlighten me, Emiya Shirou. Why is it that you are here today in the House of the Lord? Is there something God can do for you?"

Shirou just isn't used to this kind of TV-like personality. It doesn't feel real. He makes a brave face.

"Kotomine-san, I don't know the answer to that. Why would a god do anything for me? What does God do for anyone?" he shakes his head, "No, if there's anything God could do for me, he'd let me ask him why my father is dying and why I can't do anything about it."

He's surprised at how candid he can say that. His voice does not crack, either. Maybe it's the weird phony holiness of this odd-seeming priest that evokes a little fire in him. Maybe he really is mad at God, or the gods. Maybe he wishes there'd never been that fire and that Kiritsugu had gotten sick. That some of dark those things Kiritsugu never ever talked about with him, but Shirou knew intrinsically had happened to him, had never happened to him. Maybe if he had never met him, if he had never been saved, maybe things wouldn't be this way. Is there world where Kiritsugu could be happy? Why isn't it this world? 

Kotomine cracks a more genuine, sly smile, "Those are nice words to hear from a child, Emiya-kun. Very few your age would seriously contemplate such things. It's tempting to say that view is immature, however. You see, it's more complicated than "God works in mysterious ways", and yet it really is as simple as that. Let me put it this way: What if it is in the best interests of the world that Emiya Kiritsugu dies peacefully in his sleep tomorrow?"

Shirou's eyes swell wide.

"How do you know my dad's name?"

Kotomine lifts his chin, folding his arms behind his back, "We go back a ways. I know him personally. So does he. Just glancing at you, I can tell you carry an uncanny piece of him with you."

"You're friends?" 

Also, it's tempting to bring up to the priest that he's not Kiritsugu's biological son, but that's an unimportant detail right now.

"Not in a manner of speaking. In my mind, the difference between friend and enemy is quite small, for we are all God's children? But it is accurate to say we are not on speaking terms and I have been avoiding him for many years; giving him space. It's a shame, but I'm sure we can find common ground one day before God."

What a strange coincidence. 

Shirou doesn't realize he said that out loud until Kotomine has a response in kind, "Isn't it just? Perhaps it's God's work that you've stumbled across me today."

Shirou levels a stare at the priest. He searches his eyes. He thinks the priest is just taunting him.

"As I was saying," Kotomine turns and gestures toward the cross, "Sometimes, good men die because it's in the best of us all. And who would know what's best better than God?"

Shirou looks up at the hanging, naked figure. He can easily see Kiritsugu there, nails embedded painfully in his palms, blood oozing down his flanks. He doesn't know what God does or doesn't know, but it doesn't seem right for anyone to suffer like that; why does one person have to be sacrificed to help all the rest? Can't everyone be saved?

Kotomine seems to delight in studying Shirou's eyes, "There are many things I could, and perhaps I should, tell you about your father, Shirou-kun. That your father is a sinner. That he has done many bad, questionable things from since before you were born, that there are those in this world who would rejoice to see him dead, that his suffering up until this day is not even the beginnings of a just punishment."

"No... there's no way. Take-"

"It perhaps isn't my place to divulge the details of such family secrets, or even to pass judgment. Please, forgive me for sharing my personal opinions and the gossip of others. Nevertheless, what we simple humans think of as ideal...is short sighted. What is good? What is evil? These are things philosophers struggle and will always discover new ways to understand. And as a priest, I'm obligated to say that with time, all shall die. And should they beg for forgiveness from The Father, they may rise again someday. That your father is dying is a natural thing. And if he is at peace with it, then perhaps... Well, you may just have to accept it. I understand that it's hard, but that's just life. Live and take pride in how you do it. Respect how others choose to live just as much as how they choose to die," he shrugs, "If you would like, I can say many miserly, wise-sounding things to make you feel better."

"Accept it?" Shirou mutters, biting his tongue.

Kotomine lets out a short bark of a laugh.

Shirou twists and meets his eyes. He doesn't understand.

"I get what you're trying to tell me, or maybe I don't, I don't know," Shirou closes his eyes, able to see his father's smile, "But I...just can't accept it. I don't want my dad to die. I won't just let it happen!"

The priest shrugs, revealing a farce of a smile, "Death and suffering are things all must learn to accept as a part of being human. Being stubborn about it won't change that fact."

It's hard to embrace such a morbid reality. Shirou knows what Kotomine is saying is correct, however, part of being a hero... part of the things Kiritsugu had shown him...meant going against the grain. Giving it your all.

"I know that. But I just mean, I have to try. Until he does die, I'm going to try to help him recover. And if all I can do is ease the pain a little, then I'll at least be able to do that much."

"Mm, how noble of you," Kotomine's voice dips and his body follows. He kneels beside Shirou, a hand weighing heavily upon his left shoulder.

His voice transforms into a breathy whisper, "I can tell just how desperate you are to have answers," he taps Shirou's chin, tilting his head up, "You're very fortunate to have come here then. You see, I know of you. It is part of my responsibility to know what goes on in my city. So it is my responsibility to know that you are a fledgling magus."

Shirou freezes up. Kiritsugu had always told him to keep such a fact hidden, above all else; revealing that he knew any magecraft at all could cost him his life. He opens his mouth to deny it, "I'm not-"

Kotomine puts a finger on Shirou's lips.

"By the time the cock crows Shirou, you'll have denied the truth to me three times. In God's house no less."

The deathly assurance in the priest's prophecy sends a chill down Shirou's spine. In all objective honesty however, it's a mostly safe bet - Shirou is a child and Kotomine is Kotomine. No matter how brutally honest Shirou can be, Kotomine always knows how to bring out the worst in somebody.

Kotomine releases him amusedly, "Rest assured, this secret is one I keep in confidentiality. It's just between me, you, and God," he holds back a wicked twist to his lips, appearing fatherly, "But more importantly, what if I were to tell you there might be a way for a magus to save your father's life? What if I were to tell you that I know why God has chosen to forsake your father."

All hesitation and doubt are erased in that single morsel of a stick. There's a live wire in Shirou's mind, a burning current in his hands and feet. His heart is pounding so very fast and he feels like the very wind is in his chest.

"T-Tell me! Tell me please!" he grabs Kotomine, "Please! Why is he dying?"

"Is that what you most want to know? Just a simple why?" Kotomine doesn't appear surprised as he mulls over the detail, "I suppose I shouldn't have expected Kiritsugu to share such details with his son. Of course, you must understand I'm under no obligation to tell you everything, or even anything, but I think there are a few things you ought to know as his legacy's heir. It's only right, if I want to help you. And I do want to, Shirou. You are one of God's lost flock. Come, follow me. Let's speak of this in my office."

Shirou follows Kotomine through a door behind the altar, climbing down old stone steps. He looks below to see the remnants of an old pipe organ and some spare pews in storage. Past them is a small office space lit dimly by a crackling fire. Kotomine turns on a light with a tug of a cord and takes a seat. He asks Shirou to shut the door behind him.

"How much do you know about thaumaturgy, Shirou-kun?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rough & short, this one. Still more to come.
> 
> This concludes the 'prologue' of sorts.

"I know-"

Shirou glances at the room, its history worn on its aged furniture. Not everything is simple, but everything is crafted finely. Decoration handed down through multiple generations of priests. Shirou can appreciate the solemn atmosphere and the seriousness of this situation. Kiritsugu had never mentioned that members of a church would know about magic, but if there's anyone with the capacity to believe in magecraft, it's probably the sect that spent centuries hunting down heretics.

Shirou doesn't know whether he should inflate or undermine his own image. He doesn't know whether to brag or be humble. So he decides with the truth, because that's what comes most easily to him. And also because he'd rather not give this man the satisfaction of making his bogus premonition come true.

"-not very much. Dad taught me reinforcement, tracing and projection magecraft. But only a little. I know about circuits-- how to activate mine and I train almost every day. Like this-" in his eagerness to show off at least a little, maybe to prove to himself he can perform magecraft in front of another, Shirou converts one of his nerves into a temporary magical circuit. He's so fired up it takes very little concentration to accomplish - in just under half a minute - it's actually the fastest he's ever done it! It usually takes forever... It's usually a stressful process too, but this time it came with a blazing feeling, his body humming.

"Hoo? Is that all?" Kotomine doesn't sound very impressed as he lets limp his chin in a bridge made of fingers, "I expected more from the child of Emiya Kiritusgu." He doesn't comment on the incredibly dangerous stunt the child just pulled in front of him. "I suppose you're still growing, though."

"What do you mean? I mean, I know my dad used to be..." the words dry up, he hadn't meant to say 'used to be', "He's amazing."

"Amazing," Kotomine scoffs, "That's some way to put it. If he's so amazing, why hasn't he shared with you his family's legacy? A magus of his stature certainly has many secrets he could share with his son." 

Shirou doesn't know how to answer that. It's always been a difficult subject. Kiritsugu hadn't wanted to teach him anything for reasons he didn't understand.

"Well, he can't exactly teach me when he's like he is!" Shirou winces, feeling like he's lying to himself? Or is it just excusing his father? But couldn't it be the truth?

The ends of the priest's lips curl surely, "I suppose not," his voice lifts, "I suppose you're right. Kiritsugu is an amazing fellow, a magus of unparalleled drive. There are many who have heard his name. In some circles, he is still infamously feared. You ought to be proud to be a part of that legacy?"

Kotomine then retrieves something from his desk drawer while Shirou's gaze sinks toward the floor. The false priest slams a razor sharp dagger into the wood.

"The road of being a magus- it's said to be a road of death. Do you know this saying?"

Shirou lifts and nods, having heard the same from his father. It'd be used as an argument for him to not pursue the path of magecraft. It's probably the main reason Kiritsugu hardly taught him anything while he still could.

"Yes."

"Then do you know the risks with choosing to walk that path?"

"Yes."

Kotomine scoffs, "I don't think you do. If you did, you wouldn't sound so sure. It is easy for a practitioner to die. It is trivial for a single mistake to end your life. There's fear...and then there's careful consideration. All magi should be cautious." Kotomine gestures to Shirou, "Come closer child. If you're truly not afraid to die, then you can stand closer than that. I won't bite."

Shirou is goaded to come forward. He stands over the desk, looking down at the dagger. The priest lowers his voice. 

"And Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this, Shirou-kun? Do you believe you will be resurrected after you die?” Kotomine scoffs again, "Death is not something to treat lightly. For even if there is salvation after death, there is none for a magus. Without regard to the body, the mind, the spirit, his fellows, or the world around him... this is how a true magus lives. Day in, day out, seeking the origin of all things, alone in the universe. Why do you think your father is fading so unnaturally? Without ally? Without even a meager legacy? He may have thought himself above the magi, but he was no better. His actions unmade him. His beliefs were just as misguided, just as callous and inhuman as his so-called enemies. The Church teaches us to loathe magi, but even if they did not, we would still find them despicable and lamentable people. Is that truly the road you wish to walk?"

Shirou hesitates. He wonders what Kotomine wants him to say. More importantly, he wonders what his answer truly is. It turns out there isn't much to wonder, as he's already decided to this particular thought once before. Even if becoming a magus is not necessary to save Kiritsugu's life, it's still something he wants to do.

Instead of waiting for an answer, Kotomine carries on, "It's fine that you don't know very much about thaumaturgy for what I have to say. In a way, it's good. You won't mix up your knowledge of thaumaturgy with what I'm going to tell you about curses. They are decidedly different, even if they may seem similar to a neophyte." 

Shirou is quiet, reeling silent from the implication.

"A curse can be a kind of basic thaumaturgy. This is where some confusion can arise in someone who is not a fledgling. Rest assured, a curse of the kind I am going to explain is unrelated to mundane magecraft. A True Curse is very similar to True Magic, however, there is a significant difference, one which is probably over your head... Suffice to say, a curse is magecraft that operates under very strict rules. It distorts the truth; rejecting the 'origin of all things', a magus might say. In fully embracing the realm of the falsehood can a curse become truly dangerous. Urban myths, spiritual possession and spiritual hauntings are often the result of a curse. They are the easiest but most restrictive mystery, for their essence is vulgar. Their power often comes from collective belief, from Gaia itself, however, a particularly powerful magus can invoke other such curses. There are specialists that still live to this day, however, they closely guard this knowledge. A curse's strength will become diluted if it its use becomes too widespread. It's a very peculiar thing. Anyway, what I am saying should be obvious, your father is dying as a result of his body becoming cursed," Kotomine chuckles, "I would rather not lecture another in the heretical ways of magecraft, especially when so much of my knowledge is second-hand," a humble smile, "We will now concentrate on making you aware of the situation. Ask what you wish to know and I may provide you a suitable answer."

Before Shirou can respond, Kotomine intones, "Think carefully. I don't have the patience for stupid questions child. Think about what I have said and ask only the necessary questions."

The boy is ruffled by Kotomine's condescending if patient-sounding tone but he accepts the order, thinking until he's made up his mind.

"Who put a curse on my father? And why?"

"Who or why do not matter, you could not kill the one responsible for your father's curse, nor could you persuade them to lift it. Commonly, those are the most direct ways to end a curse, as you might obviously suspect. And before you dare to insist, let me say that it's simply safer if I do not tell you what you seek to know, child. Believe me. If you were to learn of who or why, it would spell your doom. I can tell from that look in your eye, you'd just do something rash. I'd rather not have your father come looking for me, either." He grins as though he would rather enjoy that, "Maybe I will tell you someday, if I think you can handle it, but for now, I must look out for your best interest."

Shirou grits his teeth, "Then...how do I break the curse?"

"One way is to ask one who practices True Magic. They can perform mysteries that are simply known as miracles, potential acts which will erase vulgar magic no matter how potent it might be. I'm sorry to admit that this method is not available to you. As you might expect, Magicians of this age are reclusive and few. They do not perform favors for just anyone. They would certainly not choose to help you or your father for any reason you could provide. Not that they would be likely help a saint of this world, but they certainly would not help magus like Kiritsugu-san," Kotomine seems to enjoy causing Shirou's face to contort in anger, "Another way is to have the curse reach its conclusion. Many curses are not fatal and come with conditions which end them before they do irreparable harm. Such as, 'Sacrifice your first born son', or, 'Profess your faith to god three times'. This is not in your father's case, however; the curse he bears has no simple out and is most certainly going to kill him."

"Then what can I do?!"

Steam seeths from Shirou's nostrils. For some reason Kotomine is enjoying this! It doesn't seem like something a priest should enjoy, it doesn't seem like anything anyone should enjoy! Tormenting a child with obscure knowledge pertaining to something so personal and serious... As strangely elated Shirou is to learn the nature of his father's slow demise, that he still can't do anything about it is burning him up inside.

"You are lucky, Shirou-kun. As a priest, I specialize in the knowledge of breaking curses. None are simple to perform, of course, and all of them require some form of sacrifice or another. The easier ones require Faith, which I know you do not possess, but there are ones even a know-nothing magus like you could someday perform, given enough talent and effort." Kotomine turns toward a bookshelf behind him and demonstrates that he possess a... Bible? No, it doesn't look like one.

"This should contain the necessary information. If someone reads it from cover to cover, they should acquire sufficient understanding of the subject to stand a chance. However..." Kotomine smirks, "I suggest you give up. It will be easier on you. To master the practical contents of this book is no small feat. It could break one like you, at your young age, you're simply not ready for this. The mysteries in here are intended for experienced magi and maturer minds, of which you are neither. It would be much healthier if you just learned to accept your inevitable father's passing. It is the way of things, as I said. Pray for him, that has a greater chance at his salvation."

Shirou shakes his head furiously, feeling the stabs of Kotomine's words, "You know I can't do that! Letting him suffer like this, without even trying to help him, it's just pointless. It's just stupid!"

"Pointless? Death is not pointless. Death is the only thing that gives this world meaning."

The boy shakes his head and claps the desk, "It's not pointless to try!"

"I suppose."

He presses a leather-bound book into Shirou's hands, but still keeping a grip on it. Shirou takes hold-

"Then that is your choice? It is yours to make. It shall be known in the heavens, and it should follow you into hell, if necessary."

-then slowly wrenching it from Kotomine's strong grip. The man could have surely held on strong enough to prevent Shirou from tearing it from his grasp, but, he lets it go. He's smiling.

"You say that, but you're giving this to me? You don't really think I can do it. Or that I shouldn't."

"I am but a humble priest. I will at times offer the answers my flock seek. I have given you my wisdom, but I also acknowledge that it is up to Man to make his own mistakes. It is what makes us superior to angels, you know? The choice to do good or evil, even angels do not have that."

The priest is tuned out. He's said his part. Shirou is already opening the book, spellbound and awestruck just by its title page. He flips through a few pages in shock. He recognizes the structure and the letters. It's in Latin. It's also been hand-written with rich thick black ink. It's a beautiful, sacred treasure.

"But there, I have given you what you have sought. Are you satisfied?"

With blazing eyes Shirou says, slapping the book shut, "Yes."

"A pity. I was hoping to extend our discussion. I don't feel as though I've given you enough opportunities to lie to me," Kotomine jokes.

"Actually, I do have to get going," Shirou lets the book fall to his side, "I have to be home soon."

"Of course."

The desire to be gone is strong, but it wouldn't be polite to leave like this. Shirou stays a moment longer, gathering what he should say. Instead, he arrives at something simple. It doesn't feel adequate, though. Kotomine's manner can be forgiven, for surely all priests are at least a little weird? Shirou can't understand the appeal of becoming one. Well, some might be regarded as heroes to their community, but when Shirou looks into this man's eyes, he sees something unnerving about them.

He sighs, "Still...thanks. I owe-"

"Thanks are not necessary. I'm just doing my duty to God. Please accept it as charity, as I would never expect to be repaid by a child."

He walks Shirou up to the altar again.

"You say that, but it doesn't sound like something God would ask you to do," Shiou says honestly, already comfortable now in believing that Kotomine is not very earnest.

The priest finds it in good humor, "You are young. Make your mistakes now while you can still learn. You'll be a better man than your father if you can do that much," Kotomine turns to leave him, "With that in mind... I would appreciate it if you did not tell him of this talk we had."

Shirou looks down at his feet, "Yeah,"

The boy knows his father would never approve of him learning magecraft on his own. And there's no way he'll agree to help him research curses, either; especially not with Kiritsugu in his current dire state. Considering this is his first chance - and perhaps his last one too - to make a difference, he can't afford to squander it.

"I promise I won't, Kotomine-san."

* * *

A young girl with salt gray hair steps quietly from the shadows. Her body sags with disinterest and weariness, her voice dragged down as though she regrets even revealing herself or raising her voice. Her name is Caren and she is the daughter of Kotomine Kirei. While there are some that might think she is much too old to be in her father's care, she's actually only in her sixteenth autumn.

Her eyes are pointed to the large doors which only just quietly shut, "Please tell me you're not causing trouble, father." 

Kotomine laughs, "Why? Does it bother you?"

"It neither amuses me, nor bothers me. I'd just rather not have to deal with it..."

"I never indicated to you that you would need to be involved."

"You never do."

"Oh. Does it make you sad, then? That I should involve my cute daughter in my dealings with men?"

"It neither makes me sad, nor does it please me, father."

Her answer is robotic, practiced, and eloquently delivered. Kotomine smiles, thinking she is the better parts of himself and Claudia. Her interest in the boy is a little disappointing as he he had thought her to be more discerning. Then he reminds himself that he didn't actually raise her. He had very little involvement in her life. These past few weeks have been the most they have ever spent together. And even this should not have happened. Someone will pay for meddling with him like this.

"Then don't worry dear, I won't expect you to follow up on that boy. If he shall live, we will meet again. And if God shall take him back into His arms, then the world may be better for it."

Under most normal dealings between father and daughter, if the word normal could be applied liberally anyway, it would have ended there. Caren has seen her father do many questionable things in the short time she has been with him. She has let him operated as he pleased, for she does not believe it is her place to judge him. However...

"I must disagree. You just gave an untrained adolescent free access to a restricted item."

"An adolescent having access to restricted items?" Kotomine turns, riding his eyes along a staff clasped in two slender hands, its end anointed by a silver cross, "Goodness, you're right. What shall become of a child that is given a little token of responsibility or power?" he thumbs his chin, flashing gilded eyes at gilded eyes, "Mothers, Fathers, don't let your children go outdoors. For surely, what can grow in the darkness of their kept rooms, embossed in silvery images of monitors within? For surely, if you keep your tykes locked away from the outside world, they won't grow up wrong. They'll stay safe and sound. As children eternal, you'll have done them a great service; as there will never be a time when they are needed as adults, surely..." Kotomine steps into the light, casting a scathing look at his daughter, while somehow smiling benevolently simultaneously, "It's a good thing someone felt the need to send you here for a little vacation. I don't particularly care one way or another what you do with the life your mother gave you, but it would be a shame if I let those simpletons have all the say in your rearing, Caren."

Thin lips grit and tug.

"So that's what you're doing? I don't know what you have against Emiya-san, so maybe it's not my place to say, but it's part of our duty to give guidance. He is not his father just as I'm-"

"Perhaps I am just doing what Emiya Kiritsugu clearly lacks the will to do." Kotomine dismisses his daughter with a wave of his hand, "If you disapprove of my methods, then if you must, please, shelter that boy of his some. Maybe it will teach you something material about life and death."

"It just sounds like you're making excuses, to me," Caren sighs, closing her eyes. She drifts away, muttering, "Such a troublesome parent." She's made up her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

He is reminded of a poem he read as a child.

I push my way through,  
push my way through,  
green mountains.

Certainly, it could be said that life, especially his, has been about pushing through mountains. Things which could never be moved. Things which could never be moved, even if he had fallen to his knees and begged. Things that nobody could move, not any of his teachers, not Iri, not even the likes of a heroic spirit like King Arthur; not all of them combined.

So why? Why bother? Why continue to push? Just out of fear of death? A magus is taught to respect death, but caution and fear are two different things. Kiritsugu does not fear death. He never has feared his own death; maybe he has feared the death of those close to his heart, but he pushed through all that, too. He made it this far. But, for what? For Shirou? Fujimura, too? Except, he wouldn't last much longer. Would that mean in the end those efforts were wasted? So why continue to push any harder? Doing so would only hurt others more. For what reason should he push his way through?

Kiritsugu doesn't know exactly. But maybe it has to do with "green".

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair. Shirou's father was not as well as he had been. He ate in his room. Sakura helped Shirou serve the meal to him. It was becoming commonplace, Sakura's presence was something Shirou did not want to take for granted, but in that moment he was relieved someone else could help him shoulder this. When he was finished eating and Fuji-nee and Sakura had excused themselves, Shirou gathered his father's attention.

"You've been getting worse."

"Mm."

"Will you make it to spring?"

"Every day that I have left is a treasure, Shirou."

Kiritsugu has been saying such things recently; dangerously philosophical things. It always brings a sigh to the boy. Kiritsugu is too sick to even be aware of his son's growing worry. 

The dying man jokes, "Don't worry, I've not started my death poem ye-"

"Maybe this is selfish and stupid of me to ask, but do you think you could make it to spring? Or...Feburary, at least? For me? Do you think you can promise that much? Three or four more months?" Shirou's voice nearly cracks, "That's not too greedy, is it?"

"I don't think that I should promise anything," he looks away, wanting to drop the subject with silence. But he catches something in Shirou's eyes that pulls on his lips, "It could be any day. I feel weaker all the time. I never thought I could drop to a pit this deep. You never do Shirou. Don't take this for granted. Your body, your spirit - you're strong. Cherish it unlike I did. You know, it feels like there's a weight on my chest when I simply breathe?" Kiritsugu's words might sound odd to an outsider, but as a magus, or as a spellcaster, he has always been close enough with death to be intimate about it with others, "I don't want to take another moment for granted. And honestly, I've lasted far longer than I ever thought I would," Kiritsugu closes his eyes, sipping tea to bide for thoughts, Shirou's presence is making it hard to think, "You know, I'm glad. For some reason, I didn't even realize it. I was worried you weren't making friends. But I was wrong. You...have found something special, I think."

Shirou takes far too long to arrive at the answer, but he really couldn't place what his father was talking about for a moment, "You mean Sakura?" 

"Of course," he lifts his chin.

Shirou doesn't want to downplay her kindness; he's inspired even by how kind she is, but they haven't been friends for very long. He's not sure how Kiritsugu can decide something like that all on his own.

"She is nice."

"I made many mistakes, Shirou. I didn't take care of my friends. So now, I don't have any," he laughs and it turns into a mild cough that he gets control over in a very practiced manner, "Take good care of her."

"Of course," Shirou mimics his father's retort from before with a smile, "But you're wrong about not having friends."

"Oh?"

"What about me and Fuji-nee?"

"I see. I see. Yes, you're right. I'm sorry."

Emiya Kiritsugu's focus pierces a vale of gloom cast by his fading eyes. For a moment he sees life in its clarity. A purl of shadow in Shirou's eye, smoldering black. It seeps into just the right place and resurrects - the eyes of his mother. Staring at him. Each a shining pearl. Each chime of breath he'd longed to breathe. A lethal breath is all it takes to bleed it back.

Shirou casts his gaze away to hide his deceit and resolve, "Anyway, please, promise me? There's something I'm starting on that I want to finish. And I want you to see it," he hesitates, losing his voice, "I want to make you proud."

The Magus Killer too looks away, unable to face eyes like hers, "Mm, don't go looking for my approval. Do things you want to do. Don't do it for me. I won't be-"

"Please! And weren't you already at least planning to watch me graduate?! Come on..."

There's a drawn out, ragged sigh. Another glimpse of the man that was emerges through a weary smile.

"I guess I can keep a lame promise like that."

"You better," Shirou retreats away, turning the light off, "Thanks."

He's thankful for the darkness. It hides himself to the other.

"...thanks."

* * *

Shirou doesn't return to see Sakura for a few minutes. She notices his eyes are red, but chooses not to say anything. She surprises herself, instead, she takes his hand and squeezes it. 

Breathless, "Sorry, I shouldn't be making you deal with this," 

She holds tighter, realizing this act is antithetical to her very core. She has to let go, but her hands are so cold and bony, she can't find the muscle. She's too close. And maybe she's a little too connected, feeling his pain. This is a little too much like with Kariya, in a way. Maybe it's why there's this dredging pain when father and son are together.

"Don't apologize," Sakura does her best impression of a smile, but it's cracked and ornamental, "Hey, promise me you'll stop apologizing to me about that."

Shirou is slow to respond, but he doesn't see why not. He knows he has to get over this. He thought he had. But maybe now that it's coming to a close finally, it's become too hard to suppress.

"Okay. I promise."

It's sort of a false promise. Shirou is promising one thing. Sakura thinks he is promising another. It should be obvious to him what she is expecting, but Shirou is too clouded and in the moment.

"Good! Now... dishes?"

"I suppose so," Shirou wonders aloud, "Do you honestly enjoy doing chores as much as I do?"

"Huh? Oh. Well," not really honestly, she thinks there can be some enjoyment in ritual and renewal; but then of course she knows why she really wants to, "Yes. Of course. It's relaxing."

"Isn't it?"

They put away everything from dinner. Fuji-nee just watches them like the freeloader she is.

"Say, Sakura-chan," Fuji-nee rolls over on the floor before the television, her knees painfully bumping against the table, "Ow!" she smiles sheepishly, looking up at her and Shirou, "You're really not as weird as Shirou is, right? I heard you two laughing in there... washing dishes can't be that much fun."

The violet-haired girl glows scarlet.

"Hey, there's nothing weird with doing the dishes, or talking with somebody!" Shirou proclaims a profound truth with his head held high, "There's something enriching about doing hard, honest, responsible work."

"Nya, how old are you again Shirou? You act like you've got dentures and sip prune juice."

"What's that supposed to mean!"

The ferocious kendo champion gets up onto her knees, "Say, say, why don't we do something actually fun! Sakura-chan can watch you be manly trying to stand up to me and my shinai!"

"Uh, I don't really think-"

Sakura offers Shirou a curious glance, "Kendo?"

"Oh yes! Shirou's pretty good at it, too!"

The young magus looks shamed, "Not really. I mean, I'm average at best," he bows his head, "Let's not-"

Sakura has mulled over the suggestion for just a moment. She'd rather not watch two people fight, but it does sound interesting.

"If you wouldn't mind Shirou, I would like to watch you."

"Oh! Now you definitely can't back down now!"

The magus really wasn't expecting Sakura to say that at all. He can already feel phantom aches like tendrils on his poor ribs.

* * *

Shirou has changed into his formal white hakama. It looks attractive on his boyish but hardened frame, a tight sash keeping it narrowly adhered to his stomach. Sakura's eyes are sort of glazed over, staring at him as he stretches on the mats. There is of course an entire room in the Emiya household devoted to supporting this type of activity.

Fuyuki's Grand Champion, Fuyuki's Tiger, Fierce Kendo Combatant Taiga as she's controversially known stands coolly on the other side of the room, brandishing her wooden sword like a crime lord's daughter ought to. There's an evil glint in her eye. No, really - she embodies all the avarice and spite her family has accrued over the last century. When it comes to kendo, Taiga is passion incarnate.

"Hey! Are you ready yet Shirou? Stop wasting time! Sakura can't be here all day."

"Almost..." Shirou is flexing his wrists, pulling back on his fingers one by one. A few crack loudly.

He knows he's going to need to be limber to take Taiga on. She's got that look, 'I won't hold back at all Shirou'. She's trying to prove something to Sakura, like she's not just a freeloader or something stupid like that. He's not really sure, but he knows he's going to pay for not paying her more attention during dinner.

"Um, aren't you supposed to wear protective masks for this?" Sakura speaks up.

"Oh don't worry Sakura, I won't leave a scar on his cute face!"

"That's not-"

Shirou steps into the ring, taking a calm stance with his sword clutched tightly in both hands. There's a grizzled look in his eye, one that immediately silences Sakura and brings an incensed smile to Fujimura.

"Ohhh, that's a good look for you! Are you actually going to take this seriously because your girlfriend's watching?"

Instead of rising to the bait like he's usually wont to, Shirou points the tip of his sword her way, "Don't tease Sakura-chan please."

The way he says it... it's almost like a death threat!

"Wow. So serious," Fuji-nee cackles in glee.

"And it's not like that. Sakura's just my friend. Stop trying to turn it into that."

"Ohoho! You can't play innocent after making such a manly posture!" Taiga flicks her demonic gaze at Sakura, "Sorry. I should apologize in advance, Sakura-chan, for dashing any illusions you have about Shirou-kun. He really is powerless against me, you know."

With a little more determination than usual, Shirou widens his stance. He looks ready.

"We don't have all day, Taiga-nee,"

Without any further formality, tears brimming in the brunette's eyes, she rushes forward with a furious battle cry.

"Oi! Shiiiirouuuuu I told you to never call me thaaaaaaaaaaat!" 

She swings down in an opening lunge. The attack is wide and predictable. Boom-clatter! Shirou swerves and deflects it with his sword, making Taiga tumble. She carries her momentum forward, spinning and lashing out in an arc. Her shinai swipes toward Shirou's side. It's so fast he can't block it. The sword crashes loudly into his ribs. It sends him to the ground, landing on his other side.

"First blood!" 

For a first clash, it's a decisively violent maneuver. In regard to the typical "levels of skill" Taiga displays when sparring with Shirou, that last attack would categorize as "Category 5". Similar to how hurricanes are categorized, Shirou has an internal system for evaluating Taiga's seriousness-level. She's pretty damn serious right now. A category five Taiga could probably only be held off by another national or prefecture tier kendo champion.

Sakura watches Shirou get up into a kneeling position, then back to his feet. They return back to the sidelines. After a brief stare down, it's Shirou who attacks first. He swings low, just above the hip. Taiga moves to block it, but just as she does, Shirou uses all his strength to suddenly swing at a different angle. There's a loud clack as their swords collide. The sheer force of the blow sends Taiga's wrists up and back and she skids a little, reaching up onto her toes--

They step away until the tips of their swords meet. Swaying, the swords kiss and peck at each other. One circles the other, poking and prodding in a dance of predator and prey. Taiga is grinning wickedly as Shirou sweats. He's been reading her feints and not committing into them- schllack! Whip! The swords collide again, then both of them sway carefully at different angles in whiplash and recoil-- Both wince at the double connect. The air warbles around them. Desperate to make some headway on this stare-down, they jump back -- and Shirou immediately hops forward. He lands a vertical slash along Taiga's chest and collar, while Taiga nails the tip of her sword into Shirou's shoulder.

Taiga exhales a hearty breath as she's just barely knocked back. Shirou is down on one knee, clutching his shoulder in convulsing pain.

"Shirou!" Sakura starts to move toward him.

"Mmm, not bad. You're learning, young grasshopper."

The boy half-glances at Sakura. His tunnel vision makes it hard to hear what she's saying.

"I'm fine Sakura!" his head snaps to Taiga, "Another!"

Grasping the sword tighter in his hands, Shirou continues to fight a hopeless battle against a superior opponent... Taiga wasn't exaggerating. She's better than him. Older, more experienced, stronger, and faster too. But this time he realizes he's having a little more fun. He hopes he can get a few more hits in and not look like a complete dud in front of Sakura.

* * *

It's late. Very late. They got carried away. After trouncing Shirou, Fujimura insisted they watch a scary movie to celebrate. Fuji-nee likes scary movies, but she definitely can't handle them well. She's going to have nightmares about zombies for days, now. 

So, while she should probably be doing this instead of him, she's instead right now cowering under the covers. Surprisingly, Sakura seemed to not only enjoy herself the whole time. She seemed to handle the whole zombie thing better than Fuji-nee.

Anyway. Although it's too late for Shirou to be out this late at night with her, he's walking Sakura home. He's gotten the impression that this is something he should do. She can't possibly stay the night, even though she said it would be fine. He believes that in her family's place, he'd want her home. They hadn't made prior arrangements for her to stay the night. And, at least it's not very far of a walk. He's feeling guilty too, for all the time he's taken from her. He can't imagine how her family feels about this sudden change.

"I'm sorry for keeping you late. I should have been paying attention to the time. You won't get in trouble I hope?"

"It's okay, I had fun," she looks up at the moon as they tread among the shadows, stepping through the glares of street lights one by one; she's watching the illusion of the it sailing over night sky , "Thank you for having me again."

"You're always welcome to eat with us," Shirou says absently, "As long as I don't get you in trouble."

Sakura swallows, "I'll talk with Gr-Grandfather about it. He'll understand."

She hopes Shirou doesn't try to pry. Thankfully, he doesn't catch her lying.

"Next time, I'll try to put up a better fight against Fuji-nee. After you cheered me on, I felt kind of bad for losing."

She laughs, "I think you did really well. And it's no problem, you tried your best for me."

He nods, the darkness disguising his blush, "Do you do anything like that in your free time? Sports, I mean."

"Not really, no."

"Oh."

"Sorry, I guess I'm a pretty boring person like that."

"You don't have to apologize. It's okay to be boring, you know?" Shirou winks, hearkening back to something similar she had said before.

She's surprised by the answer. It's definitely something she would have said under a certain context. But then why does it feel weird when applied to her? She contemplates it some, so they settle into a comfortable silence for the rest of the way.

* * *

Spring isn't long away. Just a few months. Even if it doesn't feel like winter has even started yet, there isn't much time. However, Shirou decided he would need more than a week and a day to even scratch the surface of what that fake priest had given him. But he also knew he could not ask for a year. His father definitely would not live to see another autumn. That is why he had his father promise, at a minimum, three months. Until something close to spring. Winter will soon be here and it will probably be the hardest months for his father to endure.

Shirou hopes the tight deadline will be motivation to stay focused. He doesn't know if it's really possible to become proficient in a whole new branch of magecraft in such a short time though, especially without an actual teacher to lean on. Kotomine seemed to think it would 'break him' to try. Kotomine had no interest in directly teaching it to him, either. It's like he wants him to fail. It's maybe a ridiculous and impossible thing - learn complex magecraft in three months - but at least it's better than nothing.

The shed isn't much of a magical workshop. There are landscaping tools and a lot of old junk. This pitiful space is all he has to work with, however. Kiritsugu taught him better than to try learning anywhere else. Considering the contents of this book could be very dangerous Shirou knows he needs to take extra precautions while studying it. Also, he is borrowing a Latin dictionary from the Fuyuki public library in order to decode it. He tried to find the biggest, thickest one they had. Unfortunately despite his best efforts, the table of contents of Kotomine's book alone contains some words and phrases which are not present in the dictionary.

"You've got to be kidding me," Shirou bangs his head against the concrete floor, "This is already impossible. How am I supposed to even begin reading something like this?"

He had not wanted to take the book to a public place like the library. The thought of it being confiscated or lost frightens him. However, clearly bringing a dictionary home is not a sufficient course. He'll need the power of the internet, or a master linguist, to decode such an old and esoteric work. Now having already made a critical mistake, a whole evening of study is lost. Shirou decides he'll salvage what he can tonight, by trying to parse what language he can read and figure out what exactly he cannot.


End file.
